The Second Uterus

Shot One

Deep green all around, green deep.

Shot Two

Innumerable black dots on green, innumerable.

Shot Three

Millions of people’s wails howls ridicules on green each black dots are transformed into human faces of various races, the faces form a line and relentless wails howls ridicules are heard.

Shot Four

People of various races with various dresses the march in procession Vaishnava beside Muslim Jew beside worshipers of African demigods beside Christian beside Buddhist.

Shot Five

Single colour vultures fly over the procession of men of various countries various colours of different ages, innumerable vultures over the procession   continuously flutter deep blue  sky flapping  wings wails howls ridicules are raised further

Sudden soundless.

Everyone stops in his own place.

Shot Six

Vultures float in void, still ; men are in single line, some of them raise one feet some raise closed fist, are motionless.

Shot Seven

Darkdarkdarkdarkdarkdarkdark.

Shot Eight

Cutting through the belly of green widespread valley and solid slanting sky a mountain whose soundless waves have crossed horizon and gone afar.

Shot Nine

A bunch of naked babies, cry laugh make tantrums the lie on the widespread valley’s grass in the form of dewdrops make tantrums and cry.

Shot Ten

Touching the peak of mountain a waterfall skip jumps below, waterfall’s water is blood red.

Shot Eleven

Floodwater from the blood red waterfall washes away the babies, the babies float in blood river cries laughs.

Shot Twelve

Flocks and flocks of vultures suddenly descend on floating babies vultures leave their immobile position fly down – descending they put their beaks into each baby’s eyes – tear off navel and penis of boys vagina of girls with their claws — blood oozes out of babies’ eyes, blood oozes from navel penis vagina, blood flows mixes with blood river.

Shot Thirteen

Hundreds of birds’ waking up morning songs and countless white birds chirping white

Everything stand still.

Shot Fourteen

From the left side of Christ’s statue a colourful procession of men come forward, people of various nationalities wearing their national dress come forward large procession of men, each having a testicle in place of their left eye and blood river flows from the right side of Christ’s statue, torn pieces of flesh of babies in the river, some with only head some with heart stomach vagina or legless belly and on them are seated tired vultures.

Shot Fifteen

.

Shot Sixteen

Procession of people go round Christ’s statue fall in blood river’s water, country of green slanting valley drowns in blood Christ’s nailed legs gradually stand in blood red river up to his thighs eyes of people of various colourful precession cry drops of water from their right eye, since they have penis in left eyes from there semen drip out — white semen mixed with blood floats — battered baby-limbs, vultures on limbs.

Shot Seventeen

Black snakes from around Christ’s body slither down into blood stream — snake with easy swim reaches each human being and before they could restrain them they climb up and enter their mouth from far away voices reverberate I am soul I am soul I am soul I am soul I am soul…

Shot Eighteen

From the mouth of each man the hood of a snake protrudes snakes are found on the head of vultures which were seated on floating babies.

Shot Nineteen

Christ’s statue starts stirring, shakes up all men tremble each visible square foot minute portion gets loosened in heavy water wails blood river starts ringing siren fast quite fast Christ’s stone hand stirs vultures cry fly out into sky flap wings torn pieces of babies get joined again one’s head joined by some other baby’s thigh – some having leg in place of hand some have vagina in place of navel.

Shot Twenty

In order to save themselves from tidal waves people start to swim around Christ’s statue – in place of smile  two headed snakes peep out of their mouth in place of left eye stuck up penis queer limb babies crowed around Christ’s penis vultures on them.

Snakes wave their hood on the crown of vultures.

Stoical Charminar Cigarette

Mother, I would not be able to give polished sly smile with compassionate God’s chipmunk white teeth of Satan’s intelligent eyes I would not be able to treat my wife in matriarchal fashion on the lines of saint Ramakrishna.

I would not be able to eat saccharin instead of sugar scared of diabetes with my unhappy penis I would not be able to become Devadas at Khalasitola on the day of marriage registration of my erstwhile beloved.

My liver is gradually rotting my grandfather had cirrhosis I do not understand heredity I drink and read my poems my father used to abstain from food for religious worship big brothers of our area press breasts of area-sisters on the day of Dolyatra festival in the name of religion.

Mother, during foreign visits many of your aristocratic society members drank vodka  I am stoical would light my Charminar cigarette from your burning pyre when I think about your death my eyes start crying at that time I do not think of earthquake in land and flood waters with my hands unlacing virgin girlfriend’s petticoat I did not think  of Vaishnava poetry Mother, I will also die one day.

Mother, at Belur temple ogling at a  obeisance performing  foreigner’s skirt-covered international python arse my  sexual urge had become limitless Mother your sexuality will remain associated with father till death that is why I a drunkard am envying you with my unpretentious filth looking at my penis I feel like I am a species from another planet at this moment the warm light of sundown brightens my face and smearing colours of sunset in their wings flocks of birds without family planning are flying toward the peaceful eye nest of Banalata Sen – their time for egg incubation has arrived —

I am a Beauty Monster

Mankind moves on from estrangement to marriage

after watching the painted wings of butterflies – I am a beauty monster

I have torn off scent-fetching antenna of butterflies

.

I do not have faith on anyone

lazy wicked sometimes I think of becoming a hooker’s pimp

to lead my life when hangover of drinks wear off

and seated among rejoicing  joking friends I realize my failure in love

I look at the full-moon and find a burning dead body there

.

I am lie inside drawer of a morgue just a corpse

my alive body has been towed away

to broken-bangle widow’s menstruation  napkin

I am lie inside drawer of  a morgue – crematoria wood lie inside trees

there is no love no maternity hospital wife is ready to give birth

I lie inside drawer of a morgue

this is the way I live days nights lightnings drought

on breasts of so many girls flesh heap grew up

so many girls became pregnant aborted – from Satyajit Ray’s country

Love In Tokyo film went to East Africa – in Marcus Square

Bengali culture Bharat circus poets’ gathering at Rabindra Sadan and

Vaijayantimala’s dance performance was held – I got nothing

neither redemption nor failure

From hooker’s toilet to lover’s bed

my seamless journey has not ended – from the womb of sky

that is why even today star ashes rain on earth

nevertheless I lie inside drawer of a morgue and my corpse towed away my living body

from her broken-bangles estrangement to marriage people move on

I am a beauty monster I have torn off scent-fetching antenna of butterflies

 

No Dispute With Mankind

No, I do not have any dispute with mankind anymore

if a creditor meets with an accident I can take him to hospital

borrow cigarette without qualms from erstwhile girlfriend’s husband

just like growing beards in this life quite easily I

in Ramkrishna’s  Kali devotion I find sovereign sexual power

in Babli’s husband devotion I find universal sexual happiness

If a sandal of mine is lost would I

No, I do not have any dispute with mankind anymore

.

My uneasy stare mover off from my sister’s breast

on Brothers Day I loiter around the hookers lane

after death I would be able to see the corridor of reincarnation

I am an unredeemable terror struck man

I have noticed a dog keeps on crying within me

for his bitch an ascetic mendicant gets busy with his lecherousness

in order to ravish virginity of a nun and in front of that lecherousness

even heavenly love is turned to dust– after all I am

in favour of searching happiness of life in poetry instead of rhymes

that is why I do not have any dispute with life

I do not have any dispute with mankind

 

Right Here

Right here a Greek hero of 323 BC forgets his desire for sex and rape

to implant valour and prowess in history right here

Chaitanya’s raised-arm love spreads toward humanity

forgetting taste of soft body of ladylove Vishnupriya – above all

erect human phallus remains wide eyed

above history and religious consciousness right here

.

Right here lust struck unsatisfied lover

faces millions of ridicules my ambition grows right here

my heart sinks if eyes face real questioning eyes right here

Right here one has to tread ahead to avoid respectful stare

.

With a wish to see a girl’s face I walk mile after mile but find

only crowds of tarts

Twenty seven years alone twenty seven years sleeping on my personal bed I find

brainless futureless sickly-nerve poems of poets’ poets

all around me solid soundless dark in mud built four walls

My Rifle My Bible

Two poems titled ‘My Rifle My Bible’ in my pocket

I walk toward Galpokobita periodical’s office – on this path there is a road and a market

named after a revolutionary of Independence movement

and a pulpit in the memory of a Seventies martyr

in the water of College Square reflection of old University’s new library

at a distance is the morgue of Medical College opposite to it between temple and library

a street has gone to the quarters of whores I walk through

this road toward Galpokobita office – in front pocket instead of bank notes

two poems – beneath pocket I have my undershirt

beneath undershirt my skin beneath skin there is heart

heart’s bone in abstract noun has been cut

even then I have not gone to Bonecut lane of whores till now

have visited Galpokobita office with my manuscripts

I have walked – with hunger for reading have gone to books

for love and hunger for my sex I ran to my girlfriend

books have not refused me – girlfriend has –

womankind have – thereafter I sat beside red blue fish aquarium

and ate fish fry I have noticed on inflated boobs of whores

there are flesh heaps instead of sexual attraction

in my erstwhile girlfriend’s present husband’s shining teeth

I had seen advertizement of toothpaste – not smile

.

Nimai saint eats burned human flesh as blessed food at Ramkrishna crematorium

he even eats Ganges-mud and his own shit smokes marijuana and sings God’s name

people consider Nimai saint to be a liberated man I also want to be liberated but

that liberation does not mean eating torn flesh from dead man’s burning corpse or mud

or one’s own shit – Che Guevara also wanted liberation and colonial period’s

Indian poet had written that God resides where the farmer tills cultivates harvests

all twelve months and not inside the house – this

sort of references to liberty was written before independence – today I

a poet of independent India watch unblemished smiles on the faces

of hundreds of children trapped in poverty and think about liberating them –

instead of grenades two poems in my pocket I walk towards Galpokobita office

on this path there is a road and a market named after a revolutionary

and a pulpit in the memory of a Seventies martyr on this path

Unnecessary Poem

I am a new intruder on the surface of this earth

when the doctor draws blood from cut vein of the poem

I remember I had sold my blood to drink wine

to enable me to write poems.

Have I become depraved ? Even now lot of mysteries are hidden

presently I am scared of dying which means I love to live

that is why Red Book in one hand and Jibananda’s poetry in another beneath cloudy sky

I walk ahead – people who wear sunglasses in cloudy shade

I dislike them – people who contemplate God after getting kicked in family life

I dislike them – those who kicks statues of gods and questions

‘what is what’ I love them very much – I rejoiced in Coffee House

puffing cheap cigarettes with Marx Lenin Sartre Joyce Kafka by my side

thereafter I walked alone in crowd of humanity ; actually

I am not getting anything from books – presuming I might get something from girlfriend

I ran to her but found out – she was sleeping

with my elder Officer brother

became her lover after gifting her a dress purchased with his bonus money

with that much amount I would have met my food expenses for a month

which means my would-be wife’s

cost of covering her body is equal to my food bill – can you imagine

how we live our lives

.

Even then I love smiling naked babies – the old world becomes new

in front of my hungry eyes beautiful women in bone-structures proceed toward crematoria through time-

I sold off a thick book of philosophy

for purchasing bread and wine just to live and sometimes I write down

believe me, I write down Unnecessary Poem

0987654321

Watch how nasty it seems talking about pissing

at the time of love

in hisses of kisses

ah ha ha tents blow up inside trousers  of young men

abracadabra red flag sway

marching towards the future after public vote

young lady wants to talk for going to shit

through red lipstick lips

a drunk elite at the Olympia bar

abused me — bloody toddy drinker

when I was returning from Gabbu’s joint walking on the street

I would have buried God’s living corpse

and thrown Him to be devoured by Satan

who is more attractive  — wine, women or poetry

I can not decide — my pen wanted to write ‘ringworm’

but wrote ‘oh lady oh beauty’ ; while writing ‘oh lady oh beauty’

wrote about ‘ringworm and rashes’

 

Personal Bed

1.

Not only Radhika, even prostitutes  menstruate

Father of three children — ideal family planning man

had masturbated in youth — didn’t he

2.

I do not want to be Tagore — nor Raghu Robber

I want to be Falguni Ray — just Falguni Ray

3.

The road on which I live have at one end a maternity hospital  and at the other a crematorium

I you don’t believe you may find out yourself — bus route 4, 32, 39, 43

4.

I have noticed that the word magazine is associated with rifle and poetry

 

Personal Neon

I am devoid of genius that is why I touch my nose

with my tongue to prove my genius

Sometimes while walking in front of novelist Manik Bandopadhyay’s house

I brood about the street on which he once walked

I, Falguni Ray, an idiot, trod along

I often travel in second class in tramcar

and contemplate that this was the tramcar which overran and crushed

the body of poet Jibanananda Das

This is the way I loiter

earth sun stars follow me

during my embryo moment death descended on solar system

A friend of mine drinks wine of far away lands in a bar

he angrily scolds me as a toddy drinker and cannabis smoker

one day

for chopping off Ekalavya’s thumb

I felt Dronacharya was a murderer.